


When It's Over

by paintedwolf



Series: Sub Rosa [7]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedwolf/pseuds/paintedwolf
Summary: Tag to “Witch Wars”They won. The evil that turned Wyatt has been defeated, the future’s saved, and they’re all still there, together, in one piece. Chris should be happy about that, but he just...isn’t, and he doesn’t know why. Leo is there for him, ready to carry him home when he falters at the end, and maybe even heal a few old wounds in the process.
Relationships: Chris Halliwell & Leo Wyatt
Series: Sub Rosa [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638253
Comments: 24
Kudos: 78





	When It's Over

_I can’t believe it’s finally over._

The words ring in his head again as Leo – _Dad_ – smiles at him and walks over to where his mom and aunts are gathered on the couch.

Even from where he’s standing, he can see that the lines of worry that were becoming so prominent between his mother’s brows are gone. His father’s smile is truly genuine, light and happy instead of soft-but-nowhere-near-his-eyes. Phoebe and Paige are laughing, Wyatt is giggling, and...it’s finally over.

“Maybe now Piper will start giving the teachers round here a break,” Phoebe teases, and Piper rolls her eyes. 

Chris had heard about her little inquisition earlier. 

As much as she calls _Leo_ stubborn, there is no force in the world strong enough to best Piper Halliwell when it comes to protecting her family.

Chris finds himself grinning at the thought as Paige gets up to refill everyone’s glasses.

_It’s finally over._

Paige winks at him when her eyes meet his, and her heels click sharply on the wood floor when she moves back to the group. Phoebe holds out her glass enthusiastically even though it’s just sparkling grape juice.

Chris’ eyes flick back and forth between them, and though it pleases him to see them all happy, that same feeling doesn’t quite reach him. It’s like he’s standing on the outside of Wyatt’s force-field, in the open and unprotected. 

It confuses him. Shouldn’t he be happy too? _It’s finally over_. 

Wyatt’s safe. He’s saved the future, and one day he’ll have his big brother back. Maybe even, if the universe is generous enough, he’d get the rest of his family back too. He doesn’t have to worry anymore. Doesn’t have to fight and lie and cling onto shards of peace and wonder what if, what if, what if.

His thoughts are stolen away by a rather loud yell of “Kiss!” 

The world comes rushing back to him as his gaze moves over instinctively to his brother, perched next to Piper and holding out his hands in that particular way that usually has Chris stopping whatever he was doing to go over and see what he wants. Chris still isn’t used to Wyatt looking at him like that, with trust instead of wariness in innocent blue eyes. 

He wonders if all kids are that forgiving, or if it’s just a Wyatt thing.

The room seems too hot all of a sudden, and Chris can feel it rising up his throat and underneath his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” 

Piper’s eyes are narrowed, like she’s trying to see into his soul, and something twists in his stomach. He tries a smile, the real kind that’s so easy to give his mother. It feels wrong on his face right now, but he knows they won’t be able to tell the difference.

“Yeah,” he says, “I was just thinking.” 

He’s content to let them think the flush on his face is just because he’d been spacing out and they’d caught him doing it. Leo and Piper are still frowning at him a little as he joins them, but they let it go when Wyatt makes a show of giving Chris the brightly coloured toy he’d been shaking in his chubby hands. Chris wrinkles his nose at the slippery drool all over the plastic, but Wyatt is so very pleased with himself that all Chris can do is make an equally big show of accepting it as if it’s the best gift he’s ever received. 

_Ache_ flares to life in his throat, and Chris has to swallow before he can talk again.

“Thanks buddy,” he says. “Do you think you can hold onto it for a bit for me?”

Wyatt nods as gravely as an eighteen-or-so-month-old child possibly could and takes the toy back, holding it firmly against his chest. Chris stands up and absently ruffles his hair.

It lasts for all of ten minutes before the walls start closing in on him again. His heart is pounding in his chest, hard, and Chris has to keep from clawing at the collar of his shirt. It’s too hot, too bright, too loud and he needs a moment. Just a moment. 

He excuses himself as gracefully as he can and steps out of the room. He knows they’re watching him go, can feel their gazes following behind him. He just hopes they don’t come after him yet, because something is breaking in him, threatening to disintegrate with every step he takes. 

For several minutes he wanders the cavernous halls of Magic School, not certain where he’s going as long as he can get away for awhile. 

When he finally throws himself into one of the rooms behind the multitude of ornate doors, he’s in a place more familiar to him from his past in the future than it is now. 

It’s one of the main library’s many annexes, a tall, circular room filled with books on alchemy, herbology and advanced potion-making. Chris has always had an affinity for brewing potions, something he’s always liked to think came from inheriting his mother’s love of cooking. 

In the future, it became an indispensable skill to compensate for his inability to heal, as well as for telekinesis being his only truly offensive power. 

As a kid, when he and Wyatt still attended Magic School, he’d been in here almost every day, poring through volume after volume and bringing home ancient recipes to experiment with in the attic – much to his mother’s dismay (and sometimes, her amusement). 

He remembers coming back here as an adult, long after the school had been razed, and standing in almost the exact same spot, only surrounded by broken walls and blackened books. He’d shoved some of them into a bag he’d been carrying; just a few meagre items he could gather in a rush that hadn’t been destroyed beyond repair. It was easy to forget when the school still stood in all its splendour, how it had once been a desolate ruin, a hunting ground for demons who preyed on anything that stepped foot near it, just like so many other things that had been screwed up during Wyatt’s reign. 

He doesn’t immediately realise he’s been here long enough for someone to come looking for him until he feels the warmth from another body just behind him. He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Leo, probably sent out by Piper the moment he left the room.

“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” Leo says conversationally, stepping forward to take a look around.

“Funny,” says Chris quietly. “This used to be my favourite place in all of Magic School.”

“Used to be?”

Chris shrugs. “It lost some of its charm when the demons moved in.”

Chris deliberately doesn’t mention that Wyatt played a particular role in its re-appropriation, but he gets the feeling, from the way the skin around his father’s jaw ripples, that Leo understands anyway. 

He continues to stare out into the room, watching the dust dance on the shafts of sunlight that enter through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s something about the way the light catches everything that gives the library an ethereal feel, in a way Chris doesn’t think happens anywhere else in the castle. 

Either that, or it’s just the nostalgia speaking. 

Then again, his old Magical Lore teacher used to talk about how everyone experiences something in Magic School that’s different to anyone else, often something that you need, just when you need it. He’s wondered more than once what would’ve happened if Phoebe had never gone on that vision quest and found him out. 

“Chris? Is everything okay?” 

Leo’s question pulls him away from yet another internal debate about whether everyone’s really been that better off since learning the truth about him.

“Yeah,” he says breezily. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Leo just raises his eyebrows at him, and even Chris can see how ridiculous it sounds when he’s effectively hiding from his family, who, when he’d left them, had been heartily celebrating a big win. The realisation hits him again in a swoop, forcefully enough to take down a Brute demon with a single blow. 

_It’s over._

Nine years. It’s taken him nine goddamned years. Longer even than Piper and her sisters have been practicing magic at this point. Nine years that stole away most of his family, that took his brother and his innocence from him, and ripped the world apart, over and over. Nine years of fear and terror and running for his life, and lies and secrets, and death, and horrors his family from now couldn’t even comprehend. 

And suddenly, it’s all over.

“Dad,” he says quietly, because Leo’s brow is furrowed with worry, and Chris can’t deal with that either. With having his father look at him like he actually gives a damn.

“Don’t,” he says and his voice is so close to breaking.

“Don’t what?” asks Leo.

“Just don’t. Because I can’t. Because everyone’s in there celebrating, and I _can’t…_ ”

He has barely enough breath in him to say the words. His chest is tight and heavy, and his throat seems determined to seal up on him, kind of like when Wyatt last choked him. 

When Wyatt killed Bianca. 

And then his entire body is rebelling. His heart is crashing into his ribs, and his hands are sweaty, shaking. A second and he’s hot; another and he’s cold. And while he’s trying to catch up, trying to catch his breath, there are suddenly tears, hot and streaming down his cheeks, and there’s a tiny part of Chris that wants to die.

Vaguely, he knows what’s happening. Knows it, but has no real defense against it. And he’s mortified that his father is here to bear witness to it. 

Some self-preserving instinct tells him he needs to orb away; to the Manor, to the club, to the bridge, it doesn’t matter. If he has some privacy he can pull himself together, and maybe still convince Leo he’s alright, that he’s just tired. 

Before he can even gather his thoughts enough to focus, his father’s hand is against his neck, fingers pressing into tense muscles. A light shudder runs through him, and he wants to pull away. But the touch is gentle, cool against his burning skin. It grounds him.

He opens his eyes (doesn’t even know when they closed), and Leo is still there, watching him intently, mouth pulled into a tiny smile of encouragement.

“Hey,” he says gently. “You back with me?”

Back? He isn’t aware he even went anywhere. “Chris?”

Fresh tears spill from his eyes. It’s weird because Chris doesn’t feel like he’s crying. He feels ragged, and very, _very_ tired, but not like he should be crying. He shakes his head.

Leo’s hands are on his shoulders now, holding him together. Holding him up? 

His body moves of its own accord, responding to a need Chris hasn’t fully acknowledged, and he wraps his arms around Leo, pushes his face into his neck. Leo only hesitates for a second before his own arms are pressed against Chris’ back. 

He can’t remember the last time his father held him like this. Can barely remember the last time he let _anyone_ hold him like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Everything, I guess. Dad, I....Dad.” The word is a plea and a question rolled into one, but Chris isn’t sure exactly what he’s asking for; if it’s forgiveness or understanding. 

He holds on tighter, afraid that if he lets go he’ll crumble, and maybe it’s just Leo that he needs, and with him the love and strength of a father he let himself believe he hated because it was easier than longing for something he thought he’d never have.

“Shh,” Leo hushes, and places a palm against his head, curling his fingers a little to massage his scalp. “It’s okay, Chris. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

He turns so that his forehead is resting on Leo’s shoulder, and takes a few panting breaths.

“I thought I’d be relieved, you know, when it was finally over. But all I feel is...lost. For the first time in so long, there’s no ticking clock hanging over my head. There’s no mission, no future – no world – at stake. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

The reality that he’s done what he’d set out to do, after so many months of fear and loneliness and desperation, is frightening. And how ironic that now that the weight of everything he’s carried all those years has been removed, it’s crushing him.

He’s never, not once since he came up with this crazy plan to save his brother, contemplated what would happen if he succeeded. He’s dreamed of a better future almost from the moment his mother was ripped away from him and his brother’s eyes turned cold and dark, but he’s never, _ever_ let himself think too long that that future might be something he could have. He could never afford the distraction, couldn’t let himself be swept away by fantasies of a better world when so many more lives depended on him making it right. And the deepest truth was, Chris has long since suspected at the back of his mind that he might not actually make it back to see it all. 

Now...now the future’s saved and he‘s still here, and the most obvious answer is that he’ll go back and live whatever new life is waiting for him in the future. 

But what if he _can’t_ live that life? What if he’s spent so much time looking at the world like a war-zone, that he doesn’t know what true peace and happiness _is_? 

What if, god forbid, he misses things the way they were? 

It’s been so long since he was just brother and son; nephew, cousin, friend.

He left school when he was sixteen. The world was at war by the time he was eighteen. He took his first life before he had his first kiss. He’d almost died twice before his twenty-first birthday, and instead of going out drinking to celebrate becoming an adult, he’d been in the underworld interrogating demons.

He doesn’t even know what normal twenty-two-year-olds do. Doesn’t know what normal twenty-two-year-old _witches_ do.

He doesn’t know how else to be.

Leo sighs, quietly enough that Chris wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t still clinging to his father like a life preserver.

“You’re not... _supposed_ to do anything, Chris.” Leo props him back up, and holds his face in his hands. His eyes are bright, and his expression serious when he speaks again.

“You just saved the world. That’s something to celebrate. If anything, it’s as good an excuse as any to just relax and put your feet up for a while.” 

“Yeah,” says Chris with a watery smile. “I’m not really very good at putting my feet up. Or the whole relaxing thing.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s just...I’ve been so focused on this one thing. It’s pretty much been my entire purpose for so long, and now…” He groans in frustration, briefly pushing his fingers into his hair as he turns away from Leo. “Why can’t I just be happy?”

“You can’t force yourself to feel something you’re not ready to feel, Chris.”

“But everyone else is–”

“Don’t worry about everyone else. You’ve been through a lot; I suspect, more than what you’ve let on. And after what you told me earlier, about protecting us, it makes me wonder how much more you’ve been trying to protect us from – how much of your ‘future consequences’ weren’t actually about future consequences at all. It’s okay if things get a little overwhelming for you.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No it isn’t, Chris. It’s _human_.”

“I just don’t want to ruin–”

“Chris. Son,” Leo says, moving back into his space and squeezing his shoulders. “It’s alright to not be alright. And it’s okay to need time to sort through everything before you are. We’re your family and we love you. You’ve done enough. Let us look out for you for a little while, huh?”

Then Leo pulls him into another hug, and Chris starts to think that just maybe, things might, eventually, be okay.

“Thanks, Dad,” he says.

That night, they all stay to have dinner together at Magic School. The food is good, even if it’s not quite Piper’s cooking, something she tells them is not due to lack of trying on her part, since no one will let her near the kitchens anymore after she spent an hour complaining to the head cook one night that his souffle left much to be desired. The evening is filled with laughing, joking, and at least one more exaggerated recounting of Phoebe’s trip on demonic powers. It’s hard, at first, for Chris to let go and be in the moment. He’s spent so much time mourning for the past and hoping for the future, he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to just live in the present. 

Then Piper reaches over and brushes a thumb across his cheek, and for a minute, Chris forgets that anything else exists but his mother smiling at him contentedly. He reminds himself that this is what he’s been fighting for. It hasn’t always been easy, and there have been times – like when Bianca died, or Piper told him she never wanted to see him again, or when he was ceasing to exist – when he’d seriously considered giving up. But then he would think of other things, good things, things like _this,_ and he’d remember all over again the reasons why he’d started fighting in the first place. 

He catches Leo’s eye from across the table. There’s a question in the way his face shifts, so subtly Chris doesn’t think anyone else would’ve caught it. 

_Are you alright?_

He tilts his head. _No,_ the gesture says, _but I will be._

~

The air at the top of Golden Gate bridge is almost exhilarating in its frigidness. 

Chris has never really paid much attention to it before now. Usually, he’s too wrapped up in plans and worries to be bothered by a little cold, but that night, his thoughts are eerily silent. 

If he didn’t know better, he might have even called them peaceful.

When bright blue fills his peripheral vision, he doesn’t need to look away from the city lights below to know who it is; he’d already sensed him coming.

Leo lowers himself down next to him, letting his feet hang over the edge of where they’re sitting, and for several seconds they both stare out into the night. 

There’s a short while when Chris knows Leo is watching him, even if he’s trying not to do it too obviously. He’s been more attentive than usual the last couple days, though not in the way he used to be when he suspected everything Chris did had ill-intent behind it. 

Now, it’s more from concern. It had chafed a little at first, and made Chris feel like Leo didn’t trust him not to fall to pieces at a moment’s notice, until he realised it was just his way of letting Chris know he was there if he needed him. 

After a lifetime of the exact opposite, it took some getting used to, but Chris finds he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

“Kinda cold out tonight,” Leo says.

“It’s not so bad.”

Leo leans over and holds out his hand, offering a silver hip flask.

Chris looks at it suspiciously. “I thought Elders didn’t drink.”

“They don’t.” Leo shrugs. “But I’m not here as an Elder.”

Chris takes the flask and tips it to his mouth. He’s never been much of a drinker himself, and the alcohol burns all the way down to his stomach, but the part of him that missed out on years’ worth of this kind of thing doesn’t really care.

“Didn’t know you could just turn it on and off,” he says.

“I like to think of it as a father’s prerogative,” Leo replies.

“Don’t let the rest of them hear you say that.”

He hands the flask back, and Leo takes his own sip. 

Overall, it’s going much better than the last time Leo came to see him on the bridge. They’ve become more comfortable in each other’s company, especially lately since the library, and despite himself, Chris thinks that some of the old wounds are actually, slowly, healing.

He leans over until his head is resting on Leo’s shoulder – something he never would’ve dreamed of doing just a few months ago – and looks up into the sky.

“Hey Dad,” he says. “What do you think the future will be like now?”

Leo stretches to wrap an arm around him. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I still don’t know what it was like before.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, right?”

“I guess not,” Leo agrees, though he doesn’t sound like he means it.

“Dad, I’m fine. Or I will be, eventually. But just because the future’s changed, it doesn’t mean it’s suddenly safe to talk about. If anything, it’s even more dangerous now that I don’t know what I could be changing if I do. And anyway, talking about it isn’t going to change that it happened.”

“I just want you to be okay, Chris. You know that, right?” 

“I know. And that already means more than you realise. Just knowing that you’re here for me...it helps.”

Leo tightens his hold on him, inadvertently – or perhaps purposefully – nudging him closer and Chris wriggles a little until he’s comfortably settled against his father’s side.

He falls asleep like that, at some point. He doesn’t remember when exactly, only that Leo had been telling him some story from when he first became a Whitelighter. The words didn’t really matter so much as the sound and rumble of his voice, and when Chris wakes up the next morning warm and comfortable in Piper’s bed, all he can really think of is how safe he had felt, up there in Leo’s arms.

Chris had told him once that he hadn’t come back to save them. 

He’d believed it then; every single angry part of him, but he’s not so sure about that anymore. Maybe there really is hope for them. Maybe, when it’s all said and done, the future isn’t the only thing that could change.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may have taken a liberty with the whole hip-flask thing, but this one actually sat incomplete on my computer for ages before the scene popped into my head, and I liked it so I decided not to change it.  
> This is gonna be the last of this series for now, but I'm not going to mark it as complete just yet - who knows if or when inspiration will strike?


End file.
